I am now disconnected.

High without hopes, as loud without sounds or highlighted without paint. Either way it doesn’t make any sense and fighting it only feels like an unmade bed, a broken heel or a piece of glass in the foot. Like colours that don’t match and never will and birds that sing endless choirs of misspelled words.

And the misgivings, the disillusions, the desecrations, the disabilities, disaffections, disappearances and disappointments. The disarmament that can only be discerned throughout disbeliefs and disconsolation. I am now disconnected.

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